Chapter 2 #3
“It’s fine,” she spat, the disdain in her voice dripping as heavily as the mead we’d spilled.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about what’s going on behind the curtain.
Just order another overpriced mead, get some pictures in your single-use corset top and your dragonfly wings, and keep having your little main character moments, no matter how it impacts the rest of us.
Keep flitting through life unbothered, and don’t worry about the mess you leave in your wake. ”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the only thing that came to mind was that I’d worn this corset top plenty of times, thank you very much.
Luckily, I was no longer drunk enough to think that sentiment would actually help anything, so I kept my mouth shut.
Actually, it opened and closed as if I were a hapless carp as I tried to think of a comeback, but thankfully nothing came out that would have given her more ammunition.
“Enjoy your holiday,” she said, imitating my accent, then turned and started walking away, boots crunching the dry grass, kicking up a fresh cloud of dust behind her. I only just managed to tuck the paper into her tote bag before she was out of reach.
“I really am sorry,” I called after her, but she didn’t slow down. I saw her shoulders twitch, though, and I wasn’t sure whether she was crying or laughing at me, nor which would be worse.
I stayed there for a long moment, watching Teddy disappear into the crowd, then practically jumped out of my skin when someone touched my arm.
“Hey, Chlo,” Amy said as I spun around. “You okay?”
I shook my head, then started to laugh, but it sounded more like a hiccup. “Not even a little.”
Amy didn’t ask why. She just tucked herself in close to me, wrapped her arms around my sticky torso, and rested her cheek against my hair. We stood like that for a long time, until my breathing slowed and the worst of the sting faded.
* * *
The fairground emptied out that evening in slow, lazy waves, the booths closing up and the music tapering off to a handful of last-call stragglers.
We made our way back to the camping area, weaving between glowing lanterns and stumbling knights, our shoes heavy with dust. Our tents were four of hundreds, all identical cheap, beige canvas, pitched on a patch of dying grass.
We each crawled inside our respective tents to change, then trudged to the toilet block and back before settling in for the night.
Fatima fell asleep in less than a minute, her gentle snoring rising and falling just a couple of feet away, filling our tent.
Who needed a sound machine? Still, I couldn’t manage to drift off.
Instead, I lay on my back, arms folded over my chest, staring up at the ridged canvas glowing faintly from a lantern a couple of tents over.
My head hurt, my body ached, and I was so tired it felt like my bones had been hollowed out and filled with sand, but sleep wouldn’t come.
I tried to focus on the happy parts of the day – the way the sun had felt on my skin, the taste of mead and sugar, the glory of the wenches’ cleavage – but every time I closed my eyes, I saw Teddy.
Heard her voice, laden with resentment. “Reckless and inconsiderate.” “Flitting through life.” “Don’t worry about the mess you leave in your wake.
” It replayed over and over in my mind, wedged there like a splinter I couldn’t dig out.
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that sort of thing, if never quite so scathingly.
My own mother had told me time and time again that I was meandering my way through life with no real vision.
No thought for the consequences of the decisions I was making.
She’d always been amazed by my “lack of ambition”; perplexed by my contentment.
By the absence of desperate desire to create a life for myself different than the one I’d come from.
But, for some reason, all of that hurt worse when Teddy said it, even if she’d said it for different reasons.
I knew she wasn’t right about me; not completely.
How could she be after literally thirty seconds?
For one, I wasn’t so sure I was hurting anyone, except maybe myself; all I ever did was think about the people I cared about.
But maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was why I had that sharp, hollow sensation when those people succeeded and took steps forward.
Because I hadn’t given that same consideration and effort to myself.
I mean, eighteen months with someone who, in the end, wanted very little to do with me?
Still working at the same job I’d hated for years?
I hated that Teddy’s words carried weight for me. She didn’t know me, and she hadn’t tried to before verbally eviscerating me. But there was just enough truth and familiarity to her assessment that it stung.
So as I lay there in the not-quite-dark, the tears sprang forth again, and I let myself feel hurt by what she’d said, even though I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. At least she wasn’t there to see me.
Eventually, though, as the waterworks ebbed and the heat in my throat grew into anger, my inner petty bitch won out. Because whilst Teddy had been more accurate than she had any right to be, she’d been wrong about one thing.
I wasn’t unbothered. I never had been. In fact, I was just bothered enough to do something about it.
Maybe I hadn’t had enough main character moments, actually, thank you very much. And just like in our D&D campaign, maybe it was my turn to take centre stage in my own life. I had main character material, right?
And if not, maybe I could muster just enough to prove a bitch wrong.